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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23992981">Masquerade</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficsandcatsandficsandcats/pseuds/ficsandcatsandficsandcats'>ficsandcatsandficsandcats</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:00:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,624</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23992981</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficsandcatsandficsandcats/pseuds/ficsandcatsandficsandcats</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Reader Request: I see your fancy banquet tropes (which are delightful) and raise you one Masquerade. The flirting, the mystery, the longing "what if I never find them again?"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Masquerade</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier had taken great care with his attire. He always did, but this time he’d put extra thought. The masquerade ball hosted by Marquis Delacroix was the premiere social event of the season. It was also the first event Geralt had agreed to go to as a friend, a part of what Jaskier was calling his Apology Tour, started when they reunited after the mountain and the witcher had been appropriately apologetic. Jaskier had helped Geralt pick out an outfit, shades of deep burgundy and gold which suited him well though he’d never admit it. The mask he would wear (though those yellow eyes would stand out anywhere) was a matching burgundy shade and Jaskier relented and agreed he could bring a dagger but only the prettiest one and it had to stay sheathed.</p><p>“I thought this was a masquerade, not a funeral,” Geralt said when Jaskier entered the room.</p><p>“It’s an artistic choice,” Jaskier replied, voice haughty but unsurprised by his friend’s remark, “I wear a wide array of colors in my wardrobe. It only stood to reason that for a masquerade I wear all black.”</p><p>Though monochromatic as he described, Jaskier’s outfit was not without its ornamentation. There was still attention to detailing and the cut of the suit was expertly tailored to emphasize his slight yet muscular frame. His mask was also black though gilded with an intricate filigree detailing around the edges. The contrast of the mask made his pale blue eyes nearly glow, as otherworldly as his companion’s. Once both had their masks secured they set off for the masquerade.</p><p>You had been eager to attend the masquerade but as you entered the grand hall you felt a thrill of apprehension course through you. Your gown was nowhere near as grand as some of the ones you saw around you. You’d opted for a simpler choice, a white ballgown with sheer gold rose detailing that accented the dress from the neckline which swept from the top of your right shoulder down under your left arm at an angle, wrapping around together about halfway down your back. The mask you wore was the same gold shade and helped obscure your identity. You’d arrived alone which had raised some murmurs but otherwise you were able to drift through the party without much interruption. You had no goals for the night beyond witnessing the beauty of the spectacle you’d heard stories about for years and to enjoy yourself.</p><p>The ballroom was illuminated with hundreds of candles glowing from chandeliers and sconces and the long banquet table that ran nearly the entire length of the dancefloor. Masked couples twirled and danced to the music that played. Everyone wore brilliant shades of all colors of the rainbow from soft pastels to deep jewel tones to bright, bold patterns. Everyone but one other, a man you spotted through a crush of brilliant hues, dressed all in black. He caught your eyes on him from the other side of the dancefloor and gave you a little bow. You laughed and curtseyed, nearly obscured by a flounce of skirts as the dancing ladies were lifted in tandem and twirled through the air. When they were set back on the ground, the man was gone. Before your heart could sink too low you felt a tap on your shoulder and spun to find the man in black standing before you.</p><p>Was he wearing black? You suddenly couldn’t tell, your focus falling on the softest, prettiest blue eyes you’d ever seen. You knew you would think of this stranger for the rest of your life whenever you saw a perfect summer’s sky or the wide expanse of the ocean.</p><p>“My lady,” he said in greeting, taking your hand and resting a delicate kiss on its back, eyes following yours as he did.</p><p>“My lord,” you said, curtseying, your hand still held in his after he had pulled back from the kiss.</p><p>“Is this your first masque?” he asked.</p><p>“I must confess it. Is it so obvious?” you asked, a little embarrassed.</p><p>“Oh no, I just feel certain I would have remembered seeing you,” he said. You laughed as he shot you a charming smile and you caught yourself biting your lip, a nervous habit you had tried to quit but never fully banished. You saw his eyes slip to your mouth as you let the lip slide past your teeth, praying you hadn’t mussed the red lipstick you can carefully applied for the evening.</p><p>“It seems we are the only two who did not quite meet the expected attire,” you said, gesturing to the vivid colors surrounding you.</p><p>“Or are we simply the only ones who showed imagination,” he replied.</p><p>“It’s not often you hear black and white being touted as greatly imaginative,” you laughed.</p><p>“And yet here we are,” he said, eyes twinkling as they met yours.</p><p>“Is this your first time attending?” you asked, trying to think of what to say to keep this stranger by your side instead of losing him to the chaos of the party.</p><p>“I’ve gone in the past but it’s been some time since then. I see I chose the right year to come,” he said.</p><p>“If you keep flirting like that you’ll make me regret not choosing red to better hide my blushing,” you laughed.</p><p>“That would be a travesty as you look perfect the way you are. Would you care to dance?” he asked. You nodded and he took your hand, leading you onto the dancefloor where you wound through the couples with ease, spotting each other and finding your way back through the intricate steps. You usually tried to make eye contact with the partners you were passed by as you wove through the line, but you only had eyes for the mysterious man in black who also kept his eyes on you. You were a shimmer of white and gold and he followed you around like a moth to the flame. The next dance was slower, and he pulled you into his arms, your skirt billowing around you as he twirled you out and then brought you back in close. You caught his eyes traveling to your mouth and when he pulled you in for the final spin as the music wound down, your face a breath away from his, you thought you felt his grip on your back tighten, gently pulling you those mere inches it would take to bring your lips together.</p><p>“May I cut in?” a voice asks and you both startle, turning to the intruder. Your dance partner’s beautiful features curl into a disgusted snarl.</p><p>“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks. The man, decked out in a cacophony of shades as though he’d been unable to choose one or two, smirked from beneath his equally ornate mask. His goatee and mustache were visible and the green eyes shone with a wickedness that was less charming than predatory.</p><p>“Dancing, can’t speak for what you were doing though. But I was speaking to the lady, may I have this dance?” he asked, turning his attention back to you. You nodded, unsure what else to say, and before you could turn back to your dance partner he slunk back through the crowd. You moved to go after him but your new partner pulled you back into form for the next dance.</p><p>“Valdo Marx,” the man said by way of introduction.</p><p>“Y/N,” you answered absently, scanning the crowd for a glimpse of black.</p><p>“You dance divinely, I’m glad I could provide a more suitable partner for you,” Valdo said.</p><p>“Ah yes pleasure to meet you,” you said, hardly listening to him. He followed your searching eyes but misread their intent.</p><p>“Worry not, Y/N, that oaf will stay away now that I’m here,” he boasted, thrusting you out in a spin that was so forceful you worried he may dislocate your arm, a stark contrast to the graceful movements of the man before.</p><p>“Do you know that man?” you asked, realizing there was still hope to learn of his identity.</p><p>“Unfortunately yes. He has an odd obsession with me. He imagines a sort of rivalry between us, as though we are equals in the bardic tradition,” Valdo sniffed derisively.</p><p>“So he’s a bard,” you said, snatching at any scrap of information you could glean.</p><p>“Yes, and he goes by a ridiculous name instead of his own which just shows you how much he relies on theatrics instead of pure talent,” the man continued to grouse. You began to wonder if he even realized you were still there.</p><p>“Oh indeed?” you asked, “What ridiculous name does he go by?”</p><p>“Jaskier,” Valdo spat, “Jaskier de Lettenhove.”</p><p>You tucked the name away like a morsel to be savored later and focused on slipping away from Valdo as soon as possible. It wasn’t as hard as you’d feared, he was easily distractible and soon you were hurrying around the crowd, asking people here and there if they’d seen a man in black.</p><p>“The one with the yellow eyed man?” someone had asked. You nodded though you didn’t know who that would be, “He just left.”</p><p>You sprinted through the hall, hair falling out of its updo and pouring down your shoulders as you ran. The attendants threw the door open just in time for you to run out and watch as a horse with a large man with shoulder-length silver hair and a man clad all in black rode away. You watched him fade in the distance, chest heaving from the exertion of trying to chase him down, but you did not despair.</p><p>“Jaskier de Lettenhove,” you repeated, the name sweet on your lips, “We will meet again.”</p>
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